


A number of firsts

by melonbutterfly



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, DADT Repeal, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wins the raffle for the traditional "first kiss"; the first sailor off the ship who gets to kiss his significant other. Of course all of Eames' colleagues decide they need to be there as well; it's possible (not really) they're more excited about it than Eames. All Eames cares about is finally getting his boyfriend back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A number of firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vamS7ALCvsI).

"Nah, it's pointless, Eames has got a sweetheart," Eames hears. It's Yusuf, the guy with the penchant for complementary colors (and drugs, which might explain the former). And hey, normally Eames would be the last to complain, he loves colors, the more complementary the better (Arthur says he has a strange case of colorblindness where he can't see that some colors just clash – he's likely right), but there's a place for everything, and the one for shrill colors is not web design.

According to Arthur, it's also not clothing, but really, Eames isn't inclined to trust a person who wears drab blue-grey or depressing black for a living and wears three piece suits in his free time. Not that he minds, Arthur is damn sexy in his suits, but they rarely come in any interesting color combinations. And if they do, Arthur says derisive things about them and refuses to even look at them, which is sexy in its own right, but not really the point.

Yeah, Eames has a somewhat masochistic streak – he loves Arthur's sharp tongue. Sue him.

"He _what_?" Ariadne says.

"Oi! No need to sound so disbelieving!" Eames calls over. Really.

"You're a total flirt, excuse me for doubting your faithfulness!" Ariadne calls back.

"Oi!" He's genuinely hurt now. Yeah, he flirts with practically everyone, but it's not his fault. People are generally interesting, especially the really boring ones (there's always _something_ ), and it's fascinating how some people just bloom under a little attention. Like flowers that have been left without water for too long.

Ariadne immediately looks contrite. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," she says, and she means it, but there's a sullen pull around her mouth. Eames had noticed that she had started to take his flirting more serious than it was meant – he always notices; if he weren't able to, he wouldn't do it so liberally. Consequently, he had pulled back, taken the flirtatious tone out of their interactions. Normally that works fine, people get it then, and if they don't Eames has a discreet word with them. He had planned on giving Ariadne a couple of more days to lose interest, but it seems she's taken things into her own hands and spoken to Yusuf. Who had told her in no uncertain terms that really, there was no way.

As most people when they lose, Ariadne is somewhat sore about it; to her commendation, though, her apology is genuine.

Still, that stung, so Eames just nods.

"Seriously though, our fine English friend is quite smitten with his even finer boyfriend," Yusuf says, unsurprisingly completely oblivious to the undertones.

Ariadne's eyes widen, and yep, Eames can practically see her give up. Ah, the nice clean boundaries society makes. Clearly, she's put the label "gay" on him now; he can all but watch her reevaluate their interactions and pin down some of the things Eames says or does as "gay". It's vexing, people's need to clearly define everything; things are much too fluid for that. There's so much more grey in the world than people want to believe. It's one of the reasons Eames likes bright clothes.

Thankfully, before anyone can say anything more, Dom trudges in, two hours late as per usual. His excuse is that he's the father of two under five-years-olds. Which is the truth, but so is Mal (well, she's the mother), and _she_ makes it into the agency by nine. "What's going on?" Dom asks. "What are you doing?"

"Talking about the love of Eames' life," Yusuf replies casually, flinging one arm around Ariadne's shoulder. She does her best not to wince, as does Eames. Seriously, that man has no tact. Must be the recreational drugs he enjoys.

Dom brightens. "Oh, Arthur!" Dom has a mancrush on Arthur. Eames understands. Mal understands as well. Also, Eames suspects Mal fantasizes about it, possibly even with Dom together, if some of the looks the two of them exchange in Arthur's presence mean what Eames thinks they mean. Eames has been informed this should make him uncomfortable, possibly even jealous, but really. They're both attractive people, and Arthur is worthy of being fantasized about. Eames should know; he does it daily.

As if summoned by Arthur's name, Mal sails into the room. "Did I hear Arthur's name?" Not even a hello for her husband, Arthur clearly has priority in her life. It's possibly Eames' co-workers are a little in love with Arthur as well; maybe it's the long-term exposure to Eames. He should make a study on it, Ariadne can be his test subject. Yusuf likes Arthur as well, though it's possibly mostly because Yusuf is a little scared of him – but even Saito, their grumpy boss who has one wife, one mistress and is in the process of acquiring a second one, something which Eames marvels at (because who has the time? Arthur isn't even here and Eames doesn't have the time for another relationship), seems to like Arthur a lot. He appreciates his ruthlessness. Also, he keeps saying that the relationship is good for Eames' creative process; the longer they've been separated, the more maudlin Eames' art gets, and when Arthur is there it's exuberant, practically vibrant with happiness. Nobody likes an artist who only draws with the same theme, he says.

Maybe Eames shouldn't work for Saito both as a webdesigner and as a painter; it's mixing two of his professions in ways they probably shouldn't be mixed. But really, Eames can hardly deny the truthfulness of Saito's observations, and he'd be an idiot to give either position up. Saito is iconic in the business; he only works with the best of the best. Just working with him alone brings Eames' name out there.

"Doesn't he have shore leave in two weeks?" Cobb says. He sounds a little too excited, considering how he's technically just a friend of the boyfriend, but those kinds of lines blur quickly here at Inception Design. They're much more a family than colleagues.

"Yes." Eames can't suppress the wide grin, but really, who can blame him? It's been over four months – 124 days today, to be exact. "And it's one week."

"Really?" Dom looks surprised. "I could've sworn it's two weeks."

"It was supposed to be, but Marissa contacted me yesterday, they're coming back a couple of days early. She's the ombudsman," he adds when Dom looks confused.

"Honestly," Mal huffs. Eames is fairly sure she hadn't known who Marissa is a second ago either, but the Cobbs have a weird competition thing going where Arthur is concerned. He knows for a fact that they have a standing bet going on who gets to hug Arthur first every time he comes back. There's a reason they're not allowed to come with Eames when he picks Arthur up.

"What's an ombudsman?" Yusuf asks. Next to him, Ariadne looks somewhere between curious and uncomfortable; poor thing. This can't be pleasant for her, considering she's been interested in Eames as well.

"Ombudsmen are communication links between a sailor's family and the command," Eames explains. "They meet up with command and relay information and can be contacted in case of emergency." Every now and then, Eames considers training to become one; it sounds interesting. Then again, he's pretty busy; he probably shouldn't put even more on his plate. One day, he'll have too much on it and won't be able to push it aside anymore for when Arthur is there.

"So Arthur is a sailor?" Ariadne asks; she looks a little lost but determined to catch up. She's been with them for only two weeks, so she isn't used to a lot of things here yet. Eames has been trying to make her feel more comfortable, but that clearly backfired somewhat.

"Yep." For all his sympathy for her, Eames can't hold back a grin; he's too happy. "I'm a Navy wife."

"Honey, do you think we could adopt Arthur?" Mal suddenly says. "We would receive any news about him immediately if we were his parents."

Dom looks delighted at the idea, but that's going a bit far for Eames' taste. "You wouldn't be able to fantasize about comforting him after our messy break-up anymore," he objects.

Mal rolls her eyes. "Contrary to what you may think, not everybody wants to have sex with Arthur."

"I don't see why not." Eames pouts. Everybody _should_ , Arthur is the sexiest person to ever walk this planet. And that's an objective opinion. Arthur is everything anybody could want; sweet and sexy and funny, with a sharp tongue and a cuddly streak, not to mention his kinkiness and his fascinating darker side. He made Eames work for it – still does, really. He's amazing.

Mal sighs exaggeratedly. "There he goes, off to dreamland." She flaps her hand. "He will be of little use until Arthur gets back," she informs Ariadne confidentially.

This is… not quite true. The use he will be of will likely not be too beneficial to the agency, is all. Not at all guiltily, Eames glances at his sketch pad. It's filled with details – the quirk of Arthur's lips, the crinkle in his eyes when he smiles, the curl of his hair behind his ears. He's losing it, he can tell – it's been too long since he last had the opportunity to look at Arthur in detail. Every time again, he tries to memorize him, but the longer they are apart, the more Eames finds that his sketches of him miss something. It's still recognizably Arthur, and he couldn't put to words what's wrong, but there's just something lacking. Life, he knows, but he tries not to think it, because when he does he'll remember to be scared. He's terrified he'll one day lose Arthur. If one day Arthur won't come back, Eames will soon after lose him on paper as well, and he has visions of himself spending the rest of his life chasing a ghost, trying to capture something that's gone.

That way lies madness, though, or at least an urgent need for chemically induced oblivion, and he's promised Arthur not to do drugs anymore.

"This reminds me of something," Dom says, thankfully pulling Eames away from the dangerous direction his thoughts were starting to take. "Chérie, didn't we want to ask Eames about the kiss?"

Mal immediately turns to Eames. "You have to reconsider, Eames," she tells him. "You have to allow us to be there when you pick Arthur up."

Eames frowns. "Why?"

She rolls her eyes. "Do not pretend to be stupid, you cannot afford it." Ignoring his "oi!" she leans forwards and stares at him intently. "Arthur won first kiss, Eames," she says gravely.

Eames knows this. He spent two weeks crowing about it when Arthur won the raffle for the first sailor to kiss their partner upon the ship's return. They won't be the first gay couple to receive this honor – that went to a cute lesbian couple almost exactly three months after the day DADT was repealed – but since it hasn't even been six months since the repeal, Eames figures it's still novel enough. Also, he has no illusions; it will take people a long time still to get used to the fact that yeah, some of their soldiers are in fact gay and none the worse for it. Actually, Eames believes that about ninety percent of all soldiers aren't completely heterosexual, but he believes that about everyone, not just soldiers.

"We have to be there to deliver this wonderful moment to posterity," Mal continues earnestly.

"What you mean is, you want to take pictures while Arthur and I make out," Eames translates.

"Of course." Mal leans back and puts her hands into her hips. "One day, you will want to tell your children about this. They will be a lot happier if there are pictures."

Eames can't even argue that they won't have children, because he doesn't know. They're certainly not planning on having them anytime soon, but they're pretty young still. They had decided to postpone any family planning of that kind until they were in their early thirties, which gives them a good ten years to get used to the idea.

But still, Mal's argument is somewhat sound.

Sensing like a bloodhound that Eames is close to giving in, Mal leans forward again. "Think of your godchild, too," she lays it on even thicker. "One day, James will ask about this great honor his godparents have received, and there will be no pictures to show him what it was like."

Damn. It had been Eames' decision to exclude their friends from picking up Arthur, mostly because – and he is not ashamed to admit this – he wanted Arthur all to himself. He didn't want to have to share his attention with anybody else, or have to let go of him so other people could hug him. Things might be a little different if Arthur's parents were still alive, or if Eames' mother weren't in England (Eames has no doubt that she would insist on picking Arthur up with him if it were feasible; she adores Arthur), but they're effectively orphans here. Their friends love Arthur, but they can wait a day longer in Eames opinion. To appease them they have a meal together the day after Arthur has arrived, during which they're allowed to fuss over Arthur however much they want. By that point Eames and Arthur have done most of their own fussing for the time being, so it's okay.

Still, the fact that it was Eames who made this rule means it's also his job to decide on whether or not they can make an exception. Okay, that logic is perhaps a little faulty, but since it's unlikely Arthur will get to reply in time even if Eames emails him right now, the result is the same.

And Mal is looking at him with big, pleading eyes; across the room, Dom affects his own puppy dog expression.

Damn it.

Sighing loudly, Eames gives in to the inevitable. "Fine. But you're not allowed to do your bet thing, understood?"

Mal beams at him, and then she leans over his desk to hug him, which with the angle they're at pretty much means pressing his face into her boobs. Eames has no problems with this.

Besides, it probably will be nice to have pictures.

Too late, Eames realizes he has created a monster; Mal spends the next couple of days trying out all the cameras they have available in different lights and under different conditions, trying to find the perfect one. She also contemplates making a video, despite all protestations from Eames, and organizes food and a carpool – apparently, the whole agency is going, which basically means the Cobbs, Yusuf, Robert and Ariadne, and perhaps Saito. In the end, Eames has to capitulate. Mal is a force to be reckoned with: his only options are give in gracefully or get bulldozed. He chooses the former.

There's one thing Eames has to do before Arthur comes back, though. About two days after this whole conversation, he takes Ariadne aside and tells her that he'd like for her to be there, because he likes her and would like for them to become friends (and, though he doesn't tell her this, because he doesn't want her to feel excluded or to exclude herself), but he won't be hurt if she doesn't come. She narrows her eyes at him and snaps that she isn't a heartbroken maiden; yeah, she was interested, but it was nothing more than a flirt from her side.

Eames just nods and pretends to believe her, and they never speak of it again. He does his best to put it out of his mind – she wasn't entirely truthful about it having just been a flirt, but she wasn't entirely untruthful either. There barely was any time for anything more to develop before Yusuf brutally nipped it in the bud, after all, and Eames believes that half of her feelings for him were born from the fact that she was fresh from university on her first job, in a new and unfamiliar environment and city, with no friends close by. Eames was the person closest to her in age – he's just three years older than her, in fact – and he had also been the one who had tried the hardest to make her feel included. It was probably inevitable that she'd get a little overly involved emotionally; Eames in her shoes would probably have felt the same.

In fact, now that he thinks about it, he _did_ feel the same. He and Arthur had met on deployment, overseas; they had both been fresh out of basics of their respective navies, and Eames had been a liaison. He had felt pretty alone on this ship in the middle of the ocean, full of American sailors with scarcely a Brit in sight. And yeah, he had fallen for Arthur like a ton of bricks pretty much at first sight – but it had nothing to do with Arthur being the only one to be nice to him or anything. Eames is a charming person; people generally either love or hate him, with most falling into the former category. Arthur had fallen into the latter. Eames had spent that whole deployment wooing Arthur, unaware that Arthur thought he was joking, since Eames should be well-aware that Arthur wouldn't be able to do anything about it even if he _were _interested. In fact, Arthur had thought Eames was mocking him.__

Really, it's a wonder they made it into a relationship all things considered.

But they had, through three years of DADT. And now that the US military has finally caught up with the rest of the civilized world, they can finally be open about it. (Yeah, Eames is perhaps a bit bitter about the whole thing still. The day after the repeal, a Wednesday, Arthur had put him in as his next of kin and Eames had added himself to the ombudsman E-Blast mailing list, and ever since Eames has made a point of being especially affectionate when he picks Arthur up or sends him off to make up for all the times he couldn't even be there and had to let Mal and Dom do it instead so as not to arouse suspicion. This might be the real reason why he doesn't want them there now, but he at least recognizes it as petty, so that's a good thing, right?)

Suffice to say, Eames is quite looking forwards to seeing Arthur again for more than one reason. The closer the day comes, the less he can concentrate, just as Mal had predicted; he ends up drawing anxious paintings that mainly consist of throwing badly mixed paint at a canvas and messing it up afterwards. Saito alternately loves or hates the results. He keeps saying that if Eames ever gets famous, he'll have to burn some of them or all his fame will vanish into thin air if people ever find out that he is just as capable of producing crap.

Strange thing. For some reason, most of the people in Eames' life are mean to him.

Arthur's ship is supposed to dock at around noon, which means that they leave the agency at nine. For once, Dom is punctual, which might mostly be due to the fact that James and Philippa are coming as well. Ariadne, Yusuf and Robert are there; Saito had informed them that he had better things to do. Not fooled by this, Mal has reassured him that there will be many pictures, maybe even a video if Eames can't prevent it.

Eames has been up since six, too nervous to sleep. The bedroom is a mess because he had thrown his clothes everywhere in a desperate attempt to find the right things to wear; he had to his regret had had to decide not to wear any pink or purple, because there was loving colors and there was being cliché, and Eames hated the latter. A lot of people today would look at him and think "gay"; he didn't want to reinforce anybody's prejudice.

Normally he wouldn't care; yeah, he's nervous. In the end, he had decided to go with a pair of his favorite ripped jeans, mostly because they make him feel confident and also because they make his ass look great. He also wears one of his favorite t-shirts, a lime green "Keep Calm and Drink Tea" (because he's that fucking British, fuck yeah! also, tea; Eames firmly believes if the Americans drank more tea and less coffee a lot of them would chill out a bit more) and a red plaid flannel shirt. Oh, and his Batman chucks, because Batman. He wishes DC would drop this silly rival thing with Marvel and they could all become friends; then he could also have Iron Man chucks. And Thor chucks. Hulk chucks! They could totally do Hulk glow-in-the-dark chucks, they'd be amazing. He can't wear Captain America chucks because of the whole patriot thing (there is a Captain Britain after all, about whom Eames is not allowed to think anything negative), but he would love himself some Marvel chucks. Yeah, Eames is counting the days until the Avengers comes out. Only two months left, and he will also get to see it two weeks before the rest of the world due to being in America, because movie makers still haven't understood that lagging release dates facilitate piracy more than anything else possibly could. For once Eames gets to profit from this, and yeah, he's going to dress up. He just doesn't know as whom yet. If he can get Mal to do Black Widow and Dom Captain America (though Dom would make a better Coulson, really), he'll be the happiest person in the world. Well, unless Arthur will be deployed again by that point, which isn't entirely unlikely.

"Eames?"

Eames blinks and finds to his astonishment that not only have they already arrived at San Diego Naval Base, the car is parked and everybody is piling out. The second car is pulling into a spot right next to them.

"You are with Arthur already in your thoughts, aren't you?" Mal asks, looking amused and also wearing that expression she wears when she finds something romantic.

Eames decides not to tell her that he'd been thinking about shoes and super heroes and dressing her up as Black Widow. She'd make an awesome assassin, though.

Because they're way too early – just as many other people who have arrived already – they spread out a picnic blanket and have breakfast there. The children need to be entertained, and normally Eames would love to be the one to entertain, but he's too nervous right now. He can't concentrate; his eyes keep wandering over all these other people, relatives and friends of soldiers who are waiting just like him, who have just like him been without their loved ones for four and a half months. It feels strange. Not the being on the other side – he hasn't been a soldier in over two years; he had time to get used to it, and he hadn't spent all that much time in service to begin with – but the being among people who know exactly how he feels. In his daily life, he's pretty much alone in this; people have sympathy but they don't really understand. (Unless he goes to one of the Naval Spouse Support Group events, that is, and he does that every now and then, but he doesn't know that many people yet, and he gets the impression they're mainly for families with children.) They show support and try to be there for him (Dom and Mal have him over for dinner at least once a week, and they make a point of abusing him as a babysitter regularly), but there's really only so much they can do – and only so much time he can spend around a happy couple without becoming bitter when he's already not feeling so good.

Being here, among people who get it, it fills Eames both with happiness and a sweet sort of pain.

And this, this melancholy is why he hates getting maudlin, but for some reason, he always gets that way shortly before he gets to see Arthur again, like something in him decides he needs to be properly sad the moment before he gets to be completely happy for a while. The others try to engage him in whatever they're doing, but learn to leave him alone after a while, and absently, it occurs to him that they've never seen him like this. They haven't been there the first time since the repeal that Eames got to pick Arthur up as a boyfriend, and all the times before Eames could pick Arthur up at most as a friend in a group of friends. Often, he didn't even go, just waited in their apartment for Dom and Mal to bring Arthur to him, and the two of them never came up with Arthur.

The children, of course, aren't that easy to deter; probably noticing his mood (Eames doesn't believe that children are at all oblivious to what goes on around them), James firmly plants himself into Eames' lap. He doesn't interact much with Eames, he's brought a book with him and is apparently quite happy "reading" it on his own, but he stays there for over an hour. At one point he notices the poker chip Eames has been absently playing with and examines it thoroughly.

"It's a poker chip," Eames informs him earnestly.

"Where's it from?" Mal asks. Eames hadn't even noticed that she had sat down right next to him.

"Arthur," he replies. "Not much to do for recreation on a ship, is there."

It had been a game played only between Arthur and Eames, long after the other participants had left. Arthur hadn't had any chips left and Eames had been about to leave as well since he had effectively won when Arthur had bet him all or nothing. All of Eames' chips for Arthur's single one. Eames had joked that that one chip was hardly worth all of his (not that the chips were actually worth anything; they weren't allowed to play with real money), and Arthur had looked at him and asked, "What about a kiss?"

"That's worth more than all the poker chips in the world," Eames had replied, completely serious.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and said, "Then, Sub-lieutenant Whitlock, I believe you better make use of this opportunity while it presents itself."

Eames totally won on purpose (as he always does). He doesn't know how Arthur could have expected him to seriously try not to win, not after he'd spent months and months trying to get even so much as a non-mocking smile from Arthur. Now, he's half-sure it had been a test; Arthur had wanted to know what Eames would say much more than he'd wanted for him to win – after all, he easily could have won on purpose as well. That would have been interesting to see, the both of them trying their best, but Eames is quite happy Arthur had allowed him to win.

Once the game was over, Arthur had flicked the chip over to him with a dry quirk to his mouth, and then he had just looked at Eames, eyes dark and unreadable. Eames had stared at him, heart pounding in his chest, caught up in a sudden and completely unexpected case of shyness. He'd never been shy in his life before, but somehow Arthur still manages to this day to make him react in new and unexpected ways in all areas. Eventually, Eames swallowed and whispered his name, just once.

As if that was all he'd been waiting for, Arthur had risen and walked over to Eames. He'd cupped Eames' face with one hand and leant in, agonizingly slow, eyes not letting go of Eames'. By the time their lips had finally, finally touched, Eames had been dizzy with anticipation and longing.

The kiss had been dry, not all that great as far as kisses go, but fuck if it hadn't made Eames' heart beat twice as fast. All too soon, Arthur had pulled away, let go of Eames' face and left, leaving Eames feeling exhilarated and broken all at once.

When they had ended up alone again the next gaming night, Eames had known it wasn't an accident. They had played with dice that evening, and Eames had sneaked in one of his loaded dice every now and then, more because he could than anything else (though they had played for chocolate that evening, and Eames cares greatly for chocolate). It had been three days after the poker game, and Eames had been carrying the chip around with him ever since. He was considering drilling a hole into it so he could carry it with his dog tags because he worried about losing it. Arthur had said, "You like chocolate, don't you, Sub-lieutenant Whitlock?"

"Indeed I do, Petty Officer Rice, Sir!" Eames had replied, only half-mocking. He felt slightly off-kilter; he didn't know why Arthur kept calling him by his rank, especially after that kiss. But that might not even have meant anything, because ever since, Arthur had ignored him – until they were alone with the dice, in fact. Eames didn't know what to do with this kind of mixed message.

Arthur had looked at him searchingly for a moment, and Eames couldn't help biting his lip, betraying his insecurity. "You can have mine," Arthur had said then, "if you win two out of three throws." Then he had looked at Eames sleeve, where his two loaded dice were hiding. Of course he'd notice; Eames wasn't surprised.

He also got the message (or at least he was fairly sure he had; he didn't think Arthur would warn him off using his loaded dice, because why play to begin with if he knew of them and didn't want to lose?). "My chocolate against yours?" Eames had asked, feeling a little more balanced – cheat, he could do that, he was good at that. Though he didn't really understand why Arthur wanted him to in the first place.

"My chocolate against a kiss," Arthur had said firmly.

Oh.

Eames had two loaded die; one that always landed on six and one that always landed on four. He rarely used the four one; it had been a production mistake, which is partly why Eames had wanted it. He mainly carried it with him out of superstition, for luck, because why use a loaded die that wouldn't considerably improve his chances at winning?

Because he didn't want to win, of course.

Eames didn't really get what Arthur was doing here; was he testing Eames? Trying to find out whether a kiss was worth more to Eames than a handful of poker chips or chocolate? Well, it was.

Eames lost.

Arthur looked down at his chocolate and back up at Eames again. "Too bad," he said, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

Eames shrugged self-deprecatingly. "One can't always win," he had replied philosophically, and then he had gotten up much like Arthur had the other day. But instead of teasing them both with a long wait, Eames had taken Arthur's chin and tilted his face up. Originally, he had planned to really lay one on him, with tongue and all, a kiss that would leave them both hard and panting, but instead, he suddenly found himself pressing a kiss to Arthur's forehead, and another one above his brow, one on his temple, his cheekbone, along his jaw until he finally reached his lips. He very much wanted to involve his tongue by that point, but for some reason he found himself trembling, and it was all he could do not to pull Arthur into his arms and hold on tight.

He all but fled the room.

The next day, Arthur had brought him his chocolate and the loaded die; he had forgotten both in Arthur's room, where they had played. Eames had taken the chocolate but had told Arthur to keep the die. He knows for a fact that Arthur still has it, just like Eames still has that poker chip.

And that's the story. Eames has never told anyone; not Mal, not any of his other friends. He had talked about it with Arthur, but only a little. It's private, something between only them, something nobody else will understand. That Eames doesn't _want_ anybody else to understand.

The increase of noise around him pulls Eames out of his thoughts. All around him people are stirring, congregating closer to the water; Eames finds Arthur's ship is approaching.

"Come on!", Mal urges him on impatiently, as if they didn't have at least an hour left. She drags Eames to the front, their friends on their trail. It earns them a few disgruntled looks but Mal glares them into submission.

Eames ignores the rising tension, the ensuing excitement as people start cheering, music starts playing. Intently he watches as the ship docks, takes in the soldiers standing at parade rest along the railing. It still takes a while before the landing gate is pulled out, and another before soldiers start leaving the ship, and there Arthur is, right at the front of them, looking dapper and crisp in his uniform. There are cameras aimed at the both of them, Eames is peripherally aware of this, but all his focus is with Arthur, whose expression seems sober and serious if it weren't for the twinkle in his eyes, the way his knuckles are white with how tight he's holding on to the strap of his duffle. They're walking towards each other, and then they're there. Arthur drops his duffle, and Eames had planned to make the kiss chaste, hadn't wanted at all to use his relationship for a demonstration, but Arthur clearly has something different planned. He isn't meaning to make a point either, the way he grabs Eames' face with decisive, but gentle hands is very Arthur, as is the way he presses their lips together, but Eames wouldn't call the kiss chaste. His own hands settle naturally on Arthur's waist, and when they pull apart they just stand there for a moment, foreheads leaning together, hands on each other's bodies and the kiss still warming their lips.

"Hey," Eames says eventually, and it's only then that he becomes aware of the noise around them; people are applauding, even cheering. He doesn't pay it any more attention, this time also by design and not just because his focus is solely on Arthur.

Arthur leans in again, just for a quick kiss, before he takes a step back, lets their hands fall away from each other. "Hey," he replies.

Eames smiles, eyes wandering across Arthur's face as if mapping the differences. He can't find any.

"Have a nice day?" Arthur asks off-handedly. He's nervous, clearly uncomfortable at the scrutiny they're under.

Eames laughs. Typical Arthur, understated and seemingly trivial, but he's looking at Eames just as hungrily. "Getting better by the minute."

The corners of Arthur's mouth tilt up. Then he looks away from Eames, trying to spot his duffle, but before he can get to it the reporters accost him and start asking ridiculous questions about how it feels to be finally allowed to be open and if it bothers him that two women soldiers got to be the first gay kiss in history. While Arthur struggles to give diplomatic, non-biting, non-sarcastic answers (something which is adorably difficult for him) Eames takes his duffle from Dom, who picked it up while they were busy. To his surprise, Eames soon finds himself being addressed as well. He's asked some generalized questions about what it's like to be with a soldier and to not have to hide anymore; he gives diplomatic answers as well, but allows himself to be a little cheeky. Thankfully, the whole fuss is soon over as the reporters move on to filming tearful family reunions and bothering them with inane questions. But this doesn't mean that they finally have a moment to themselves because immediately, their friends descend upon them, hugging Arthur and fussing. Ariadne hangs back somewhat, holding on to James and Philippa's hands, who both are clearly unhappy at being left out. Eames walks over and lifts James onto his hip, lets Philippa cling to his leg; it probably didn't help that they don't know Ariadne very well. The poor girl looks incredibly relieved and grateful to have Eaems take over. "I'm not really good with children," she explains, embarrassed.

Eames waves the half-apology off. "This is all a bit much for them, I imagine." As if to underline the point, James sniffles and buries his head in Eames' neck; Philippa is busy wiping her nose on his jeans.

Ariadne's eyes wander to Arthur. "He looks nice," she says awkwardly, but gently.

"Oh, he isn't," Eames grins. "Mean git, he is. But yeah. Mighty fine too." It's a bit much, considering the awkward situation they're in, but he can hardly be blamed. Arthur's just come back, Eames is absolutely chuffed.

Eventually, Arthur manages to also extricate himself from their friends. He stands next to Eames, unknowingly making the tension between Eames and Ariadne even more weird by putting one proprietorial arm around Eames' waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You must be Ariadne," he addresses her. "Eames has told me about you."

She smiles weakly. "I've heard about you as well." This is even true; Eames mentions Arthur often. He hadn't thought that Ariadne wouldn't know that Arthur is his significant other. That was his mistake, he realizes this now, and he's going to pay better attention next time.

Thankfully before this can turn truly awkward Mal and Dom swoop in, taking over the children, while Robert joins Ariadne. Arthur and Eames make use of the moment of distraction by again kissing, ignoring how Yusuf's still taking photos. Some of them will no doubt end up on the agency's website, but Eames trusts that they won't without his permission.

"We're going home, right?" Arthur asks under his breath.

Eames raises both eyebrows. "Certainly. Why would you think otherwise?" They always spend the first day at home.

"They mentioned something about dinner." Arthur gestures towards Mal.

"For _them,_ " Eames emphasizes. "We have an appointment with our bed."

The corner of Arthur's quirks in that smirk that Eames finds so attractive. There's no need to say anything else.

Of course, it's a while still before they get to leave; there's more interaction, though Arthur doesn't leave Eames' side anymore, and once they're in the car there's more waiting because there's lots of other people also wanting to leave at right that moment. But eventually, finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of their building. Eames and Arthur manages to keep up some resemblance of dignity even in the elevator – Eames' fingers itch to touch Arthur, but he only allows himself to put one hand in the small of his back, a gesture which Arthur returns when Eames has to let go to unlock the door.

But as soon as said door closes behind them, they drop all pretense. Immediately they're all over, greedy mouths and impatient fingers as they undo buttons and zippers and belts. Somehow, they manage to make their way into the bedroom, led there more by feel than by sight because neither of them can look away from the other.

Eames' heart is pounding loudly in his ears and he feels dizzy, head whirling with too many things; Arthur's taste in his mouth, the exhilaration and faint disbelief of finally having him back, the yearning for him that somehow seems to amplify now that Arthur is here with him; need. Need for him to be closer, to see Arthur come and feel him all around, inside and outside, to hear him moan and laugh and talk. Everything, he wants everything, and he wants it all at once, is greedy and desperate for it.

They don't last long, horizontal on the bed and gloriously naked, though Eames is too far gone to appreciate it much right now. He has one leg wrapped around Arthur's hips, the other between his legs, their thighs rubbing together where Arthur has his between Eames' as they thrust against each other impatiently and inelegantly.

"Fuck," Arthur curses, wrenching his mouth away from Eames' and gasping for breath.

Eames whines and wraps one arm around Arthur, tangling his fingers in his short hair. His other is entwined with Arthur's on the pillow next to his head, both holding on tightly. Arthur's breath is hot on his cheek and Eames grunts, tilts his head back as pleasure courses through his body in waves.

"That's it, darling," he rasps, barely aware of the words falling out of his mouth. He's so close. "Just like that, yeah… _fuck_."

"I'm going to," Arthur growls, hot and dark and possessive. "I'm going to fuck you into the mattress. You'll scream my name and come so hard you'll see stars."

Eames whimpers, whole body straining upwards; he's so close, just a little-

Suddenly, Arthur clamps his teeth into Eames' neck, muffling his own shout as he comes, and Eames throws back and follows him, mouth open and gasping.

Afterwards they lie together, limp and cooling as they try to gather their wits. Eames is quite content for the moment, Arthur here and in his arms, hot and limber and, right now, cuddly and a bit clingy with his arms wrapped around Eames. Usually Eames is the clingy one, not excessively so but he likes to reassure himself that Arthur is there by touching him frequently, if only a brush of his fingertips across the small of Arthur's back, the backs of his fingers along his forearm.

Eventually they have to move, skin itchy with drying body fluids, and go to share a shower. It's spent more with kissing than cleaning, but they get there eventually, so it doesn't matter either way. Fingers intertwined and clad in boxers and t-shirts (Arthur having picked up Eames' from the floor where it lay discarded in their mad dash for the bedroom) they head into the kitchen. Eames is quite pleased to see Arthur in his shirt; he generally loves to see him in his clothes. It's makes him a bit sad that he can't return the favor because he's too broad for Arthur's shirts, especially since those tend to be on the tight side.

As they prepare sandwiches (Arthur) and coffee and tea (Eames) they move around each other with practice, quickly falling back into old rhythms of passing each other things without having to be asked. And despite the fact that the kitchen isn't that small they brush by each other constantly and process is slow because they keep sharing glances and smiles and kisses. Once the food is prepared they sit in the bar chairs by the island separating the kitchen from the living room, their calves hooked together. Eames sips his tea, sugary and milky, imagining how the bitter, undiluted coffee Arthur is drinking will taste on his tongue. The sandwiches Arthur made are sitting untouched on their plates for now as they sip their hot beverages and stare at each other.

Eventually, Eames can't deal with the tension racking up between them anymore and puts his cup down. The action is mirrored by Arthur as Eames puts one tea-warmed hand on his cheek and leans in to kiss him, slow and thorough with lots of tongue. When he pulls back Arthur's cheeks are flushed, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he licks his lips, chasing Eames' taste. They stare at each other for a moment, eyes full of promise; both well-aware that this is only a short break before they get back to bed.

But for now, there's food and caffeine. They start eating, and as they chew, they talk about inconsequential things – nice to have you back, darling, I like your new haircut, it never ceases to amaze me that you don't tan, love, thanks for not wearing neon pink, wonder how the photos turned out, sweetheart, we'll no doubt be shown them all by Mal tomorrow, oh do we have a meal date tomorrow?, yes our presence is required for a barbecue at the Cobb's, did you know they've been talking about adopting you I like it when you make that face please marry me.

Arthur blinks. Eames blinks. That hadn't meant to come out; he's been thinking about it, yes, but more idle than anything else. Yes, he wanted to be with Arthur forever, but they are only in their early twenties and there is a part of him that is waiting for Arthur to realize that Eames is too lazy, too messy, too exuberant, too much in all aspects; Arthur likes quiet and sedate things, precision and planning. But that isn't entirely fair, because Arthur also likes explosions and causing messes, living hard and aggressive and flipping off anybody who dares form an opinion, expressing his displeasure with fists where words don't suffice. Arthur is the one who doesn't let anybody look down on him, who with one haughty look challenges a pack of guys with alcohol in their blood and a burning need to prove their masculinity by "showing 'em fags" and then show _them_ instead, laughing like a madman all the while. Eames is fiercely in love with him, and he wants to always be there when Arthur causes messes, aggressive and magnificent with it. Sometimes he regrets leaving the service, allows himself to daydream what life would be like if he hadn't, but it's fanciful and he knows it. He had been deployed on another ship, away from Arthur, and had resigned as soon as he'd come back, unable and unwilling to have their relationship peter out due to distance, communication hardship, long assignments and misaligned schedules. Besides, they would have had to hide even harder, and Eames isn't made for command structures and orders and routine anyway.

"Are you serious?" Arthur asks. Eames can't tell what his face and tone mean, and it causes a sinking feeling in his belly, the fear that he's forgotten how to read Arthur and maybe won't get the chance to relearn, now.

"Yes. I mean, I've been thinking about it, I didn't mean to bring it up yet." Embarrassed, he rubs his nose. The timing really was terrible; the exhilaration of having Arthur back clearly went to his head.

Arthur's eyes are wide, astonished. "Really?" It sounds like he's asking, "me?"

Eames frowns. There's a joke on his lips about scoring Arthur before someone else comes along to snag him away, but now doesn't seem like the right time. Really, though, who else? There's nobody who captures attention the way Arthur does, so continuously, so effortlessly, so completely. There's nobody like Arthur. He can't even imagine being tied down to any person but him. "I want to sit with you like this in fifty years," he explains. It's easier to say than a heartfelt speech or three words but just as true.

"Oh." Lowering his eyes, Arthur looks down for a moment, blinking rapidly. When he looks up again there's a fierce look in his eyes. "Yes. I will have you." It's like a challenge, like he's only daring Eames to protest.

Eames grins. He loves when Arthur looks at him like he's on the verge of jumping him, and neither of them knows whether he's going to strangle him or kiss him. Arthur spent most of their courtship looking at Eames like that, and much of their early relationship. Always a challenge; Arthur is gorgeous.

"You're gorgeous, darling," Eames tells him.

Arthur laughs and gets off the chair. "I will have you now," he says imperiously, holding one hand out for Eames. It's clear he's decided that the food break is over. Eames laughs as well and allows himself to be dragged to the bedroom, leaving their half-finished sandwiches behind.

Two rounds in the bed, one nap and another food break later, the two of them lie in the bathtub, letting the hot water soothe their sore bodies. Eames feels pleasantly buzzed, counting the bruises and bite marks on Arthur's body with satisfaction. Arthur smirks as if he's reading his possessive, self-satisfied thoughts and approves of them. With faint regret at the knowledge that he won't get it up again anytime soon, Eames watches his throat bob as he takes a sip from the cool orange juice they brought, lips red and tempting around the straw. Maybe this would be more classy with alcohol, but Arthur is a recovering alcoholic and Eames long stopped drinking so it'd become habit even when Arthur isn't there. It feels like a part of him is still with Eames if he lives like he would with Arthur there.

"You really meant it," Arthur suddenly says, out of the blue. He's looking at Eames as if he's trying to decipher a code, complicated and mysterious and exhilarating.

Eames doesn't insult them both by pretending he doesn't know what he's talking about. "Yes."

Arthur nods, lowers his gaze. "I have this ring," he says. "I inherited it." That hard look is in his eyes, the one that always appears there when he speaks of his father; the one who abandoned him to the child welfare system after his mother's death because he couldn't deal with a five-years-old, and who constituted him as his sole heir when he died as if that makes everything okay again. Eleven years in an orphanage, a fuckton of issues and bad memories and alcoholism, and money and some valuables are supposed to make it all better. Eames possibly hates the guy more than Arthur does, can't get over the one picture Arthur has of himself with his mother, eyes bright and happy, how he'll never meet that person. Not that he really wants to, because he isn't sure he could love Arthur as much as he does if he weren't fractured and ragged at the edges, but that doesn't make it alright either.

"Okay," he says, as nonjudgmental as he can, which isn't all that much where Arthur is concerned, really.

"I don't want you to wear it," Arthur declares, eyes narrowed and voice sharp. "But I want to sell it and buy you a new one with it."

Arthur hasn't touched anything of the money and valuables he inherited; he refuses to. He spent a year on the street, a life of petty crime and begging, out of pure stubbornness. If some streetworker hadn't chewed him a new one, saying that daddy issues didn't give Arthur the right to throw his life away and that if he wanted to live hard and die young with a gun in his hand he might as well do it professionally, he maybe would still be there.

"I'm not sure I want that," Eames confesses, looking at Arthur searchingly. "We can manage on our own." They're not rich but they do have two steady incomes, and Eames is going to earn a fuckton of money anyway once his paintings get the attention they deserve. There's a difference between talented and famous, Saito keeps saying, and with the former already there all they need is to work on the latter, but even with Saito in his back that takes its time.

Arthur gives a small shake of his head. "No. I'm going to sell it all, and then we're going to spend everything. Buy a new life with the leftovers of the old one."

Except there isn't such a thing as a new beginning; the only way to get that would be with amnesia, and the great irony is that an amnesiac spends all his time chasing the past. There's never an escape, and they both know it.

Good thing then that Eames doesn't want to escape.

He grins widely, showing all his teeth. "Let's do that."

And they do.


End file.
